


Until You Come Back Home

by Tommykaine



Category: Till Death Do Us Part (Visual Novel)
Genre: Abusive Protagonist, Abusive Relationships, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Canon-Typical Violence, Challenge Response, Graphic Violence, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, M/M, Maritombola Challenge, POV Abuser, POV First Person, POV Male Character, Post-Canon, Spoilers, spoilers in summary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-18 18:26:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13105983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tommykaine/pseuds/Tommykaine
Summary: "I spent the first week having angry imaginary conversations in my head in which you begged me to take you back and I told you in detail exactly what I fucking thought of that, while laying in bed popping painkillers, or wincing as my ribs ached while I half-burned my dinner for that day.I'd never learned how to properly cook – why would I? You were the one taking care of that. One of the few things you could be trusted to do, even if it would always be cold by the time I got to eat it, or unsalted, or too watery. Well, at least it was... decent. Maybe good, even. Surely compared to the shit I've been forcing down my throat these past weeks.At least the whiskey helps to wash away the burnt taste.And the memory of your back turned to me as you leave me here."---Set after the events of the last Survival Ending for Chris.MC deals with the aftermath of the incident, while waiting for Chris to come back home.





	Until You Come Back Home

**Author's Note:**

> Please do mind the warnings in the tags!
> 
> It's not an excessively graphic fic (there is one somewhat graphic description of violence), however much like that route of the game it's set from the POV of an abusive character. 
> 
> Do not read this story if the subject matter might trigger you!
> 
> \----
> 
> I forgot to mention but this is a fill for the prompt 12 of LDF's 8th edition of the Maritombola.

I've been sitting here for hell knows how long, bringing this glass full of liquor to my lips again and again, relishing in the burn against my tongue and in my throat as I feel the corners of my mouth twitching, and my thoughts getting blurred.

It's been weeks since you stormed out of the house, maybe even months by now.

Enough for my body to recover from what you put it through. Thank fuck I'm a doctor, so I was spared the humiliation of the questioning by the hospital nurses, their pitiful stares and even worse, the gossiping to no end.

Of course, that also meant I was in no shape to work for most of that time.

I can't believe it's come down to this.

_You piece of shit._

  

 

At first I thought you'd be back here with your tail between your legs, whining to let you back in again, telling me once again about how sorry you were, thinking it'd just fix everything because of course that's what you always thought. Always apologizing and never bothering to actually _do_ something about anything.

I spent the first week having angry imaginary conversations in my head in which you begged me to take you back and I told you in detail exactly what I fucking thought of that, while laying in bed popping painkillers, or wincing as my ribs ached while I half-burned my dinner for that day.

I'd never learned how to properly cook – why would I? You were the one taking care of that. One of the few things you could be trusted to do, even if it would always be cold by the time I got to eat it, or unsalted, or too watery. Well, at least it was... decent. Maybe good, even. Surely compared to the shit I've been forcing down my throat these past weeks.

At least the whiskey helps to wash away the burnt taste.

And the memory of your back turned to me as you leave me here.

_You piece of shit. I can't believe that you'd do this to me._

At least now I don't have to hear your annoying music while you're in the kitchen. I'd gotten you to stop singing along to it, if nothing else.

_You sound like a cat with its stail stuck in a doorframe._

Silence at last.

I'll fucking cheer to that.

 

 

The next weeks passed by as uneventful as the first. I changed my bandages, I cleaned up, I cooked – or at least tried to – and, well, I drank. 

I should know better than to drink while taking medication. At least you're not here to talk down to me as if I'm a fucking novice.

It's not like I'm gonna get _worse_.

I mostly stayed in the house for the whole time, but sometimes I went to look outside.

Sometimes I thought I'd heard your car...

How idiotic. As if I wouldn't know if you came back. I knew you'd let me know of your presence fast enough for me to regret letting you past the entrance. I knew you'd be anything but subtle.

Maybe you'd barge in with some stupid gift, something you just grabbed on the way at the last second, not even bothering to question whether I'd like it or not.

Maybe you'd cry again after I threw it in the trash. I'm done with pretending to care about that shit. It's gonna be useless garbage anyway, might as well save myself the effort to let you find it in the garbage later and pretend like you didn't see.

But you didn't.

_Why didn't you?_

 

 

I picked up all your photos from the walls and the counters. I put them all in a box.

I picked up all of your clothes too, threw those in as well.

Your tracksuit still stinks of sweat.

_Disgusting._

Couldn't even clean up after yourself before leaving.

I thought of burning it all, turn it into a pile of ash. I thought of your face as you asked where your things went.

_Why should I have kept them? You said you were out of here._

Would you get angry again? Or would you just cry?

I picked up your suit. It still smells of you.

Maybe I should keep that one, I thought. Just so that I could remind you of how ridiculous you look in it.

You never got it tailored. You never were going to. We didn't have the money to waste on something so useless. Tailoring was expensive, and it's not like you'd look any smarter in it.

_What for anyway? You're gonna look ridiculous in it no matter what. A nice suit doesn't make what's inside it any better._

 

 

I threw the box out of the fucking window. I watched as your pictures shattered on the pavement. I laughed.

I got drunk and thought about calling you. Just to tell you how much I wished to never show your stupid face around here again. Maybe tell you about how I was fucking someone else now. How much better they were than you, in every respect.

Tsk. As if I'd give you the satisfaction to be the first to call.

It'd be much better to wait for you to do the first move. Then I will tell you all about that.

It doesn't matter if it isn't true. I just wanted to hear your voice as you begged me to give you a second chance.

I just wanted to hear your voice.

_Why haven't you even called me yet?_

 

 

I cut myself on the glass as I picked up the shattered fragments of the frames. Some of it got on your shirt.

You're never gonna wear it again.

I didn't fucking care.

Three weeks and you still hadn't even called. You didn't even think of how I'd feel, not hearing from you at all, not even knowing if you were alive again.

Maybe you did something really stupid and I'd just...

I'd just never hear from you again.

_Good. Good fucking riddance. I hope you die a painful and stupid death. It'll be the least useless thing you ever fucking did._

I cried on my burned dinner. Maybe you really were dead.

_You'd better be._

At least then you'd have an excuse for not showing up yet.

 

I threw up the whole night. I shouldn't be drinking so much, after all. But I couldn't sleep.

I couldn't sleep without you. I didn't even know where you were.

Maybe you were dead. I really thought you might be. That had to be why you hadn't showed up again, right? Maybe you snapped again, you finally did something really stupid.

Maybe. Or... maybe you were with someone else.

_When you should have been here with me._

 

 

The last time I saw you was when she came here. You weren't dead, after all.

I shouldn't have been _relieved._

I don't even remember what she or I said, not precisely. She just stormed in one day and started yelling like a banshee. She wanted me to leave “your” house and wouldn't listen to reason – how could this be your house when you've never bothered to step foot in here again? Don't make me laugh.

_Of course you'd send your sister here to do your bidding, you've never been enough of a man to handle things on your own._

Things had gotten physical, we'd ended up wrestling on the ground and she started bashing me in the head with a vase until I was bleeding and barely conscious.

She probably would have killed me if you hadn't stepped in then, dragging her away from me, insisting that you could handle the rest yourself.

_Easy to play the big man when I can barely move, right, Chrissy?_

You didn't say a word for a while, and neither did I. I just got up and grabbed a tissue from my pocket, cleaning off the blood from my face. My ears were still ringing from the blow.

As I limped towards the sofa, my foot stepped on something, and I looked down. Under my foot was a single, pathetic looking wilted flower. I remember you picking it for me. I remember the sad look on your face when I told you I was allergic, like a kicked puppy. It was a lie, but you didn't even know that. You just were so used to fucking up everything you did that you believed it without question.

“You really need to leave.” you told me, quietly, but looking at me firmly in the eye. “There's this course I'm going to enroll in, and it's not cheap. So, I'm gonna sell this house” you continued, pausing as you waited for me to react, but I just stared blankly at you.

_Yeah, of course you are. Just try it._

“I'm... I'm sorry but I really need to do it. I need to get my shit together and this, this is what will make it possible. It's not _boxing_ but- following my passions blindly never was the best choice to do, I guess”. You smiled meekly. It just enraged me. I wanted to punch you but I held myself back. I knew you could take me out easily, especially while I was wounded.

“What am I supposed to do?” I asked, drily.

You scrunched up your face, as if you'd just seen something unpleasant.

“I don't know” you replied after a few moments, before taking a deep breath. “but – you have to go.”

“Go. _Where?_ ”

“I don't... I don't know” you stammered. “And... I don't really care” you continued in a firmer tone. “It's so much more expensive to look after such a big house on your own, anyway, isn't it?” you smiled again, but it wilted pathetically as soon as you saw my expression. “Look, you need to move on...”

“Easy for you to say.” I snapped. “What is it, even Aria's getting fed up of looking after your grown ass? Huh? Poor little...”

“SHUT UP!” you yelled, lurching forward.

I froze on the spot, then scooted further away on the sofa. That seemed to snap you out of it.

“I'm...” you sighed. “This is why I didn't want to get involved again. I just... can't stand the way it makes me feel when I think about you. All the shit you've been doing... I just get so mad, and I hate it. I hate what you've turned me into. I know I'm not like this. It's just _you_ ” the last word was spit out with so much venom that it made me shiver. I could feel the hate seeping through your words. I didn't expect it to hurt me, but it did.

“I've got to move on, Andy, and so do you.” you said “I... I thought I wouldn't be able to do anything on my own. I'm too spineless, right?” you smirked. I didn't like that tone, nor the look in your face. Sarcasm has never suited you. “Aria's been helping me, but I can't keep depending on her. I need to do this on my own. And _you_ 're holding me back” you looked at me like I was a piece of dirt under your shoes, and I felt my face heat up, but I didn't say anything.

I hated to admit it even to myself, but I was too scared. This wasn't the Chris I knew. The Chris I knew wouldn't even be able to look at me and form a coherent argument at the same time. The Chris I knew would have been too terrified to say anything against me.

I kinda wanted that back. The worthless, spineless husband that I had taken for granted. I hadn't realized how useless I was without him around, without anyone else to turn my frustrations and helplessness to, but myself.

“I'm going to talk to a lawyer. I don't want Aria to get involved again. She means well but, you just bring out the worst in her.” you finally continued “You're going to get your part of the money once the house is sold and then, we'll be through. Please don't make this harder that this needs to be.”

You walked away from me. I wanted to yell at you, tell you to fuck off, that you'd have to pry my fucking house away from my cold dead hands. But I just couldn't. My heart was sinking, my ears were ringing so much I could barely hear your footsteps, yet I still could make out the last words you left me with.

“You should get help, Andy. For your own... no, for everyone's sake.”

_You piece of..._

“Goodbye, Andy”.

 

 

 

I brought the glass to my lips again, too hard. It clinked against my teeth. 

I hissed in pain, then I threw it against the wall.

You weren't going to come back.

You're never going to. 

I picked up your suit. The one that I ruined. The blood has turned brown.

It was never you, was it.

It was me.

And now I've got no one else to blame for it.

_You piece of shit. It was all your fault._

I've got no one else's life to ruin, now.

Except mine.

 


End file.
